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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537193">tetelestai</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy'>remy (iamremy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apocalypseverse Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Blood and Torture, Crucifixion, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 14, Tortured Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,899</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Sam Winchester Prompt-a-Thon - the prompt is "crucifixion".</p><p>The boy with the demon blood must be cleansed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester Prompt-a-thon</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tetelestai</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/gifts">quickreaver</a>.</li>



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/quickreaver/pseuds/quickreaver">quickreaver</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon">SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Crucifixion. That's it. That's the prompt.</p><p>-</p><p>the title is greek, meaning "it is finished" - according to st. john, these were jesus's last words on the cross.</p><p>i am not christian, and i have done my best not to include any overtly religious themes in this story as i do not wish to offend anyone. however, if i have inadvertently caused some offense, i apologize for that. it was not my intention.</p><p>-</p><p>this is set after the mid-season finale of season 14, after michael possesses dean again.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You must remember, Sam, that this is not personal.”</p><p>Sam takes in a shuddering breath, tries to keep it in his lungs. He can’t answer. Air is too precious to waste on words.</p><p>“On second thoughts… maybe it is a little personal,” admits Michael. He looks down at the body he’s wearing, and then gives Sam an icy smile. “Your brother’s here, you know. He can see it all.”</p><p>The breath Sam is clinging on to rushes out of his body. He sags, ignoring the flare of pain in his hands and wrists. <em> Let Dean go</em>, he wants to say, but that train left the station a long time ago and then got blown up on the tracks.</p><p>“It’s a good thing, really,” Michael tells Sam, in Dean’s voice. “This world needs to learn… several lessons.”</p><p>It’s nothing Sam hasn’t heard before. He’s been here for hours and hours, probably days at this point. He’s not really sure anymore. The existence of pain is the only thing he feels confident about. In the beginning, he’d responded, talked back to Michael through the pain. He’d had the breath for it.</p><p>Now he can’t remember what it’s like to inhale and not feel like his lungs are falling to pieces in his chest.</p><p>Michael drones on about how he despairs of the godless state of this world, and how he plans to cleanse it and show humans who their true master is. Sam tunes him out. It’s easy. It may be Dean’s voice, but the tone is nothing like anything Sam’s ever heard from his brother’s mouth. It makes it easy to dismiss Michael, because that’s not his brother. He may be wearing Dean, but he’s not Dean. No version of Dean would ever let this happen to any version of Sam.</p><p>Instead, Sam focuses on pooling whatever strength he’s got left, and forcing himself to raise his body just a little so he can inhale. The air in this place is damp, musty - Sam won’t be surprised if he ends up with a fungal infection in his lungs. Not that it’ll be an issue for much longer; he can feel his strength fading, and when he can no longer force himself to keep breathing, he’s going to die.</p><p>It’ll be a relief.</p><p>“You’re not listening,” chides Michael. </p><p><em> Little occupied with trying to breathe</em>, Sam wants to answer. For a second he almost wishes Michael could read his mind and hear him, because then he’d know that Sam’s still fighting, that he’s not just pathetically hanging off a crossbeam and struggling to breathe.</p><p>“You know, I’ve tried to be kind,” Michael says. Some of Sam’s surprise must show on his face, because Michael chuckles and then continues, “I have. You and your brother are fighters, Samuel, and I respect that.”</p><p><em> It’s Sam</em>.</p><p>“For the longest time, Dean wasn’t aware that he is no longer in control of his body,” Michael informs Sam. “I constructed a whole world for him, in here.” He taps at his temple. “He was happy. But something made him break out of it. I think it was you.” He observes Sam with interest, the way Sam raises his head to keep his eyes on Michael. “He’s no longer under any illusion. He has complete awareness of what’s going on. A pity, really. He was much quieter that way.”</p><p>Even here, in this dusty basement or warehouse or whatever it is, Michael looks pristine. There’s not so much as a mote of dust on his suit or coat, and that stupid hat sits perfectly in place on his head. </p><p>“You may not believe me, but I’ve even been kind to you,” Michael continues. He seems to enjoy monologuing; half the time he doesn’t even care that Sam’s barely listening anymore. “I could have nailed your feet too, Samuel. You would be dead by now, if I had. Instead I chose to make it easier on you.”</p><p>Sam would laugh, if he could. Yeah, his feet aren’t nailed, and there’s a footrest, but it’s just beyond the reach of his toes. The way Sam’s body is hanging, he can only get some rest if he lets himself go completely. </p><p>He tried that, one time. The pain that tore through his arms was unparalleled by anything he’s ever felt on this earth. Only the Cage had ever come close to that kind of screaming, white-hot agony. He had genuinely feared that his hands were going to be torn apart by the nails in them.</p><p>This isn’t mercy, whatever Michael says. This is torture. This is sadism. Sam is going to die here, on this literal cross, because no help is coming. He’s accepted that. Castiel and Jack can’t sense him here, thanks to whatever dampeners Michael has put on the place. And Dean - Dean is so far from Sam right now that he might as well be on the moon.</p><p>Michael sighs heavily. “This is why I detest you humans,” he says, sounding like a disappointed father. Sam tries not to think of John. Fails. “Always so ungrateful. So blinded to your own blessings. Always complaining, never happy.”</p><p>If Michael thinks Sam is going to be happy about having nails through his hands and wrists, he’s got another thing coming. It surprises Sam that he can still feel irritation, through all the pain, but angels tend to have that effect on him.</p><p>“The Romans,” Michael goes on, “had a far less merciful method of crucifixion.”</p><p>Sam knows. He remembers reading about it a long time ago, but even if he hadn’t, Michael’s given him this speech enough times for him to have it memorized by now.</p><p>Michael doesn’t seem to care that he’s being repetitive; he goes on, “They would first scourge the prisoner. They would make him bear his own cross to the place of crucifixion. Most of the time, he would be naked. They would nail his feet to the cross, too, not just his hands. Sometimes, they would break his legs. I have done none of that to you, Samuel.”</p><p>It’s still not mercy. Sam would spit at him, if he could.</p><p>“And yet you are not happy.” Michael sounds displeased. “I have told you, Samuel, that I do not do this to punish you. I do it to <em> cleanse </em> you, to remove the filth in your blood. To make you fit to exist in the new world I’m building.”</p><p>Sam’s not sure how long he’s meant to hang here until Michael deems him sufficiently cleansed, but he doesn’t want to find out. Doesn’t particularly care, either. It’s getting harder and harder to take in air, and Sam’s vision is beginning to tunnel. His head hurts. He can feel every single beat of his heart, thudding weakly in his chest.</p><p>It’s only a matter of time. Sam’s not afraid. An eternity of oblivion in The Empty is appealing at this point. Sam can only hope that when it does happen, Dean is not watching.</p><p>But he knows better. Michael would never spare Dean that.</p><p>“I’m impressed,” Michael says. Sam opens his eyes. He wasn’t even aware he’d closed them. “You have survived far longer than I had thought. You are still not clean, but you are strong. You have potential, Samuel. If you had fulfilled your destiny all those years ago, let the Apocalypse progress as it was meant to, this world would be a very different place. A better one.”</p><p>Sam closes his eyes again, and wishes he could spare himself the irritation of having to listen to this all over again.</p><p>“But humans… you never do as you’re told. The most irritating design flaw possible, and our father saw it as a masterpiece. It is… astoundingly naive of him.”</p><p>Chuck’s not here anymore. Sam wouldn’t pray to him even if he was.</p><p>His lips are cracked and bleeding, throat so raw it hurts. He tries to swallow, but can’t produce enough saliva to do so. His body alternates between pain and numbness as his heart struggles to oxygenate his cells.</p><p>He knows how this goes. He’s going to black out, soon. His body is going to sag, chest muscles unable to do their job. His brain is going to fight for oxygen, but soon enough, it will give up. A few minutes, and there will be damage. Some time longer, and it will be irreversible.</p><p>Before it gets to that point though, his heart will probably give in. Or maybe he’ll have a pulmonary embolism, get a clot in his lungs that kills him quicker. He doubts he’ll even see it coming; the symptoms will probably be disguised by all the pain he’s already in.</p><p>He’s okay with it. At this point, he really is. He’s done all he can for the world. He’s atoned all he can for his mistakes. Jack will be left behind but he’ll know he was loved right up to Sam’s last breath. He’ll have Castiel to look after him.</p><p>Sam just wishes he got to see Dean one more time. His big brother Dean, the real deal, not the imposter in front of him, wearing his brother’s body and voice and hands.</p><p>“Sometimes, the Romans would light a fire at the base of the cross,” Michael says. He’s swinging between topics, a crazed pendulum, singing to an audience of one and not caring that it’s the same song over and over again. Perhaps it’s the only one he knows. “The fire,” he goes on, “would of course give off smoke, which would asphyxiate the prisoner. Kill him faster. Oh,” he says a moment later, sounding amused enough to make Sam open his eyes. “Your brother did not like that.”</p><p>So Dean is still being made to watch.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Dean,” Michael goes on. “I will not be doing that to your brother. However,” he adds thoughtfully, “the longer I stay here, the more I begin to see the merits of nailing his feet to the cross too.”</p><p>Great. Just great. </p><p>“Oh, he does not like this either,” Michael tells Sam. There’s an honest-to-God twinkle to his eye, like he’s having the time of his life. Sam’s only seen that look on Dean’s face when he talks about the Impala, or sometimes when he looks at Sam when he thinks Sam doesn’t know. It’s disturbing, seeing that well-worn, beloved smile so twisted by Michael’s sadistic enjoyment of the situation.</p><p>Sam lifts himself up feebly, gulps in as much air as he can. He’s got to make this last a while; he doesn’t think he has the strength for more. He’s so close to the end now that he can practically already feel the oblivion that Billie goes on and on about inflicting on him and Dean.</p><p>Michael finally moves. There’s a bag by his feet, and he crouches so he can retrieve the iron spikes he’s stored in it. He doesn’t have a hammer, because he doesn’t need one - his Grace is more than enough to drive the nails through Sam’s flesh and bone, to keep him immobile.</p><p>“Just a little bit longer, Sam,” he says. Sam’s heard these words a million times from his brother’s mouth, and the familiarity of it makes his chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the pain he’s already in. Here, now, in his last moments, all he wants is his big brother.</p><p>“You will be clean soon, Samuel,” Michael promises. The illusion shatters. Sam’s big brother is not here. </p><p>Sam whimpers when he feels the first nail go through his foot, thudding into the wood behind it. He’s not capable of much more, even though what he really wants to do is scream. But he’s not a stranger to pain, thanks to Lucifer and this world’s Michael. He can bear centuries of excruciating agony. The nail in his foot does not register as much as it should.</p><p>The nail goes further into the wood. Sam’s fingers flex on instinct as a response to the agony in his feet, and the small movement sends pain flaring up his arms. He forces himself up, takes a deep breath, and loses it immediately when his mouth falls open in a cry of pain.</p><p>He’s going to die. He’s going to die, and Michael still has Dean, and he’s not going to see his brother again.</p><p>“You know, it’s better for you if you remain still,” Michael says, condescending, as if Sam’s being difficult just to spite him. </p><p>There is blood dripping from the wounds in Sam’s hands and wrists. His forearms are covered in it, and now his left foot is bleeding too, pinned to the wooden crossbeam he’s hanging off of.</p><p>“Stop it,” Michael snaps. Sam opens his eyes. Michael looks angry, and it takes Sam a moment to realize he was talking to Dean, not him. “It’s for your brother’s own good, Dean. You of all people should understand that. Yes, I’m aware he’s in pain. A little pain is good for the soul, to purge him of the evil in his veins. Didn’t you once do the same thing to him? Leave him in pain so that he could be clean once more?”</p><p>Michael has no right. He has no fucking right to talk to Dean and condescend to him about the panic room, so long ago, as if he’d been there. As if he has any idea what it was like. He has no right to talk about it like it was something Sam deserved, because he <em> didn’t</em>. He knows that now. He might have thought he deserved it, once upon a time, but that was centuries of pain ago, and now Sam knows that he didn’t. He <em> didn’t- </em></p><p>“Stop it,” Michael says again, and then snarls. The sound is so unlike him that Sam freezes, looking up, searching his face and not daring to hope. “Stop it, stop it, be <em> quiet</em>-”</p><p>Moving his body makes fire dance across every single one of his nerve endings, but Sam does it anyway, takes in as much breath as he can before letting himself sag once more. “Dean?” he wheezes out, throat aching ferociously, his voice feeble and almost inaudible.</p><p>Michael freezes. He stares at Sam, and his eyes are green and not blue, and his entire body is still.</p><p>“Dean,” Sam tries again, and then coughs weakly. He can taste blood in his mouth.</p><p>Michael moves again, a sudden, sharp movement, and grabs his head with both hands. “No, stop screaming, stop it, <em> stop it</em>-” he rants. “It’s for his own good, sit still, I don’t need this kind of insubordination from <em> you</em>-”</p><p>“Dean,” Sam says, and runs out of breath. He struggles up, inhales, ignores the pain. “Dean!”</p><p>Michael sinks to his knees, still holding his head. Now, for the first time, there are dirt marks on the knees of his fancy gray suit, and the hem of his coat is dragging over the dusty floor. “Stop it, stop it, stop it, I’ll end you-”</p><p>Sam marshals the remains of his strength, pools it in from every single cell in his body, and then <em> moves</em>. “No,” he rasps out as he feels his hand coming free. “ <em> No</em>-” He can feel his bones shatter, tendons snapping like piano strings, as he rips his hand free of the nails. It feels like his blood is on fire.</p><p>Michael looks up. “No,” he says, and then, “No no no, what are you <em> doing</em>-” He sounds positively crazed now, eyes wide and mad as he stares up at Sam.</p><p>Sam is now hanging on by one hand and one foot. Michael is on his knees in front of him, and he’s struggling, and he wants to kill Dean just so he can shut him up, and he can’t <em> do </em> that. He doesn’t get to do that. </p><p>“Dean,” Sam says again, blood spraying from his mouth. His body leans dangerously forward, supported only by his other hand, and Sam can feel the tissue ripping apart, the blood running down his arm. “Dean-” he tries again, focusing on the man in front of him, because he’s got to get to his brother, he’s got to get through to Dean-</p><p>“Sam?” </p><p>Michael looks up. Except it’s not Michael, it’s <em> Dean</em>, and Sam knows because Michael could never look at him like that, like he’s the only person in the world, like he’s worth burning universes down for-</p><p>The nail in Sam’s foot flies out, hitting the opposite wall and falling to the ground. Sam can smell sulfur, but he’s not sure where it’s coming from and he can’t care right now. His feet scrabble to find a hold on the footrest below him, but there’s too much blood, and he slips.</p><p>“Sam!”</p><p>It’s definitely Dean. He scrambles to his feet, looking panicked, eyes green and warm and wide from fear. It’s Dean, and Sam’s big brother’s here-</p><p>Sam’s other hand is wrenched down as he falls, his body no longer able to support his weight. He hears the sound of bone breaking, can feel his hand being torn apart, but only has the breath to gasp. His vision’s almost entirely dark now. </p><p>“Sammy, oh God, oh God-”</p><p>Michael could never sound like that. Could never even come close. That’s love, and that’s terror, and that’s Dean, and he’s here. He’s here.</p><p>Sam lets himself fall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please comment and let me know what you thought of the story! and quickreaver, i really really hope you liked it!</p><p>come find me on tumblr @<a href="https://chesterbennington.co.vu">thelegendofwinchester</a>!</p><p>love,<br/>remy</p></blockquote></div></div>
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